Issue No. 6, Autumn 2013

Because she asked for a rose
as if it were a palmful of milk.
She wanted some sustenance
from that rose smell, like sweet rot.
She wanted a rose
to bring flies in
to pick us both apart.
Petals to pull off
from the core—She wanted
a beast to tug at our limbs
until they released—
Tell me—what
do our insides
smell like—so sweet
they could be terribly past
ripeness:
We
both
are.

Sara Moore teaches English and Creative Writing at Northern Kentucky University. Her poems have been featured in numerous journals and anthologies, including Illunimations, the Yellow Medicine Review, Accent, and Vine Leaves. Her chapbook was a recent finalist in the Sundress Press Chapbook Competition. Follow her here: saralizmoore.wordpress.com